Paul Thorn: Pimps, preachers and … lunchboxes?

Paul Thorn pitches his souvenir lunchboxes Friday at Floore’s. (Photos by Robert Johnson)

Every performer flogging the club circuit sells T-shirts and CDs at the merch table in the back of the hall. But not many sell souvenir lunchboxes.

Paul Thorn is not like everyone else.

As fans well know, the singer-songwriter-bluesy rocker from Tupelo, Miss. has one of the most interesting bios in the music business. His dad was a Pentecostal preacher; his uncle was a pimp. He’s a former factory worker and an ex-boxer who managed to survive six rounds in the ring with the great Roberto (“Hands of Stone”) Duran. He writes songs like “800-Pound Jesus,” “I Don’t Like Half the Folks I Love” and “Joanie, the Jehovah’s Witness Stripper.”

So of course he’s gonna sell something weird. In the middle of his Friday night set at John T. Floore Store in Helotes, he implored the crowd to buy his stuff — especially a commemorative metal lunchbox sporting the cover artwork of his latest album, 2012′s all-covers effort “What the Hell Is Going On?”

“It has a picture of me and Jesus in a kiddie pool,” he said. Sure enough. Check it out, and you’ll see a lot of other cartoon stuff happening on the cover — enough to make you scratch your head and repeat the album title.

Thorn, of course, has lots more to offer than unusual merch. Backed by a powerhouse band featuring lefthanded guitar ace Bill Hinds, Thorn turned in a 95-minute show that at any given moment could be poignant, powerful or hilarious.

Thorn goes on a crowd walk during his encore.

Sometimes one followed the other in the next breath. During a three-song solo-acoustic miniset, he introduced “A Star That Fell Down,” a touching song he wrote about a prostitute’s plight. “You don’t have to know someone to care about them, ” he said while fiddling with his guitar and then quickly adding, “You do have to tune your guitar, or your song will sound like shit.”

“My grandma taught me that,” he added, tongue firmly in cheek.

Although his self-started record label, Perpetual Obscurity Records, is an obvious commentary on his career path, he said he could chart his progress by his appearances at the storied Helotes dancehall. The first time, hardly anyone showed up. he said. The second time, a few more.

Noting that this time he was playing inside to a nearly full room, he added, “My dream is to someday play outside.” The outdoor venue at Floore’s is where Texas Music heavy-hitters such as Randy Rogers or Kevin Fowler play for crowds of 2,000 or more.

My response to Thorn’s dream is, amen to that. The indoor shows, which feature tables on the side and a standing area in the middle, aren’t exactly fan friendly. Viewers from the tables could occasionally see Thorn’s head and not much more.

Anyway … his between-song patter suggests he could transition into a spoken-word gig if the rockin’ troubadour thing doesn’t work out. He dedicated a song to Chandler, the grade-school boy who had been his 9-year-old daughter’s boyfriend all of three days. “Walk in Your Shadow” was prefaced with an intro about the worst thing he’d ever done — an affair with his girlfriend’s sister. Despite saying his girlfriend more than evened the score, he didn’t exactly sound chastened by the whole thing.

His one-song encore. “Take My Love With You,” featured a crowd walk. Descending into the masses, Thorn seemed determined to give the tune a literal interpretation, hugging most of the folks in the audience. At one point, I was packing up my camera bag, thinking the show was over, and noticed him standing on a chair five feet away.

He continued his populist theme at the merch table, signing T-shirts, CDs (including my just-purchased copy of his 2010 album “Pimps & Preachers”) and, of course, lunchboxes. He also seemed mildly impressed to meet someone named Robert Johnson, which may have to do with the fact that he’s from Mississippi.

Lincoln Durham’s cigarbox axe.

Opening act Lincoln Durham raised a huge ruckus thanks to his amped-up acoustic-electric guitar augmented by bass drum, harmonica and tambourine — all of which he played himself. His rustic, Delta-infused, one-man-band roar made the White Stripes sound like smooth jazz.

He also brought out one of the strangest guitars I had ever seen — a one-string contraption that looked like it was made out of a cigarbox with a broomstick for a fretboard. Even THAT thing sounded like a whole band in his hands. Imagine what Robert Johnson might have sounded like had he been playing now.

That’s Robert Johnson the famous dead bluesman, not the famous Weekender 24-7 blogger. Just so there’s no confusion. (Yes, I play guitar, but badly, because I still have my soul).